


A Slight Embuggerance

by Ryumaru



Category: Discworld, Exalted
Genre: Comedy, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4281534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryumaru/pseuds/Ryumaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, Why His Grace Sir Samuel the Duke of Ankh Hates Magic, Sidereals, and Gods (In That Order).</p><p>A desperate attempt at catching a real bastard of a criminal invites some problems when a rogue idea particle, having lodged itself firmly in the mind of an enterprising wizard, briefly links Discworld and Creation. Chaos ensues. Takes place post-Thud! but before Snuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slight Embuggerance

Sam Vimes was not, at the best of times, a cheerful man. At this time, however, his normal mood would have been sunshine and rainbows in comparison. 

“Explain it to me again, Mr. Stibbons,” he said in the careful tones of someone who was on the verge of exploding. 

“Well, Commander, the theory is that we can send you ahead, as it were, to where this particular criminal _will_ be.” 

Oh gods. This was beginning to sound like time travel, and Vimes had been there once already. 

“It's just a matter of calculating based on spacetime strings and how they fit into the weave of the disc,” continued Ponder Stibbons. “Really quite a fascinating theory. The universe may, in fact, be composed entirely of dimensional strings, woven like a great web-” 

“Yes, yes, thank you Mr. Stibbons.” Vimes lit a cigar, hoping it would distract him from his mounting irritation. Why had he agreed to this? Oh, yes, because Carcer, the utter bastard, had somehow spawned himself a damn _copycat_. Some other bastard thought that Carcer Dun, a devil in human skin, was worth looking up to. Whoever was doing the looking had to be so damn low even the deep-downer dwarves would trip over him. Vimes wished they'd trod on him instead. 

But the fact was, he was too slippery to catch through normal coppering, and now he was probably on his way to Sto Lat or Quirm, where there was a distinctive lack of Sam Vimes. And that could only end in trouble. Therefore, it was (theoretically) a good idea to be there before the bastard could even stroll in the gate. 

“Now, Commander, if you'll just give me the, er, personal connection, I can get started.” 

Vimes pulled the scrap of hair he'd yanked from the copycat's scalp out of his pocket and handed it over. There had been a scrap, oh yes, and Vimes had come out on top, but the slippery bugger had still gotten away thanks to an inconvenient cart. 

“Ah! Excellent. I'll just set it here in the circle and let the runes do the calculations for me! It's really quite an ingenious little set-up, if I do say so myself.” Ponder was unusually proud of this particular accomplishment. “Based on the same theory. I call it The Spider.”

Vimes, for lack of anything better to do, took the bait. “And why exactly do you call it that?”

Ponder stopped. “I... d'you know, I'm not quite sure. The idea just popped into my head.” The runes on the floor, surrounding the hair, began to glow. 

Something about this began to make Vimes' scalp prickle. This, _this_ was why he didn't trust magic. But now he'd gone and put his foot in it, hadn't he...?

“Er,” he said, somewhat nervously. “Should the hair be smouldering like that?”

Ponder whirled, then stared. “Oh, _bug-_ ” 

The world swirled away, and Vimes' vision went dark. 

 

Elsewhere, in the infinite possibilities of the universe, a rabbit scratched its ear. This had nothing to do with where Sam Vimes had gone, because something had happened to place him inside another universe entirely. 

 

The Loom of Fate was in chaos. It had been for weeks, but this was anarchy besides. Chejop Kejak kneaded his brows. Someone, weeks ago, had stolen a godsdamned Pattern Spider from the Loom, only Jupiter knew _how_ , and now _this_.

Fortunately, he had the assistance of one of Creation's foremost experts on the Loom, trying to decode what was going on. After fifteen minutes of frantic rustling and mechanical clicking, the younger Sidereal, a fellow Chosen of Secrets, approached the elder. 

“I imagine this is not good news,” said Kejak. 

“Well sir,” replied Deepest Thoughts, “I really have both good and bad. News, that is.” 

Kejak looked at the young Sidereal. He'd been Chosen late in his life, for a Sidereal, and had a strange, mousy look to him, aided by the very round spectacles he always wore. And then there was that strange pointed hat he wore, out of no other reason than having had an idea for it, and his strange accent that didn't quite match anywhere in Creation, not unless Nexus suddenly went high-class. No matter. Kejak nodded, indicating for the other Vizier to continue. 

“Well, the good news is that I believe, thanks to some calculations, I know where the missing Pattern Spider went.”

“And?”

“Er... that's where the bad news comes in. It seems whoever stole it threw it into... the Well, sir.” 

Silence. 

“The, er, Well of Udr, sir.” 

Kejak slumped into a chair. This was not good. He needed some tea. Well, really, he needed a very, _very_ strong drink, but tea would have to do while he was on duty. Wordlessly, he pulled his tea set out of Elsewhere and began to brew a pot. 

“Incidentally, sir, it's related to the current chaos. Whatever happened when the Pattern Spider was thrown in, something else has happened back. Equal and opposite reactions, see? Wherever it went, something came back.” 

Ah, the wonderful properties of red jade. An indulgence, yes, but good tea made long years more bearable. The teapot was already steaming. “What would this something be?” 

“According to the loom, sir, a man. Or, well, something roughly the size and shape of a man. I don't want to assume, sir, because it could be anything that matches that description. Some kind of uncertainty principle, I haven't worked out the details just yet....” Deepest Thoughts trailed off, seeing that his superior was now calmly sipping tea. 

“Hm? Oh, sorry. Don't let me interrupt.” 

“Very well, sir. If you give me five more minutes, I'm sure I can find where whatever it is landed and what exactly it is.” 

“That quickly?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Very well, go ahead. I'll wait.” 

At least the tea was good. 

 

Sam Vimes hit a wall. This was not entirely unexpected, but it was still unpleasant. Even more unpleasant was the large number of hulking men in leathers who stared at him as if he'd dropped out of nowhere. To them, he certainly had. 

Vimes shook his head to clear the darkness away. He looked around, saw he was in an alley, and noticed three things. The first was that the air felt a bit different here. The second was that there was a large number of hulking men in leathers giving him what might be called the hairy eyeball. The third was that his feet, feeling the cobblestones through his soles, didn't know where they were. 

“Alright,” he said, now thoroughly annoyed, “where am I? Quirm? Pseudopolis? Don't tell me I've gone all the way to the Counterweight Continent....” 

The goons glanced at each other. Madmen were supposed to be taken in, weren't they? Especially madmen who appeared from thin air. But then, you could never be sure if you'd got a god or one of the damned Fair Folk showing up for one of their games. 

“Well?” said Sam Vimes. “Come on, let's stop playing silly buggers. Out with it.” 

“Yeah?” said one of the goons. “On whose authority?” 

“Mine, damn it!” Vimes, losing patience, thumped his breastplate. “See the armor? See the helmet? That's _law_ , that is. So unless you want trouble, boyos, I'd rather like to know where I am.” 

Law? All of the goons grinned evilly. That was claiming Council sanction, and his armor was far too shabby to belong to any of the mercenary companies that did. The Emissary paid a good price for bringing in troublemakers like this. 

The men advanced. Vimes sighed. Well, if they were going to play silly buggers.... 

Five minutes later, Sam Vimes strolled out of the alley, plus a few bruises, but overall none the worse for the wear. 

 

It took fifteen minutes, in fact, but Kejak didn't mind. Fifteen minutes was plenty of time to enjoy a good cup of tea, and perhaps even start on a second. 

Just as he finished pouring, Deepest Thoughts came back and bowed. “Sorry for the delay, sir. Had a few minor complications. Nothing worth talking about.” 

Kejak wordlessly bid his subordinate to continue. 

Clearing his throat, Deepest Thoughts adjusted his glasses and expounded. “I've found that the object in question is, indeed, a man. He ended up somewhere in Nexus, and....” He checked his notes. “Yes, he's already been in a fight. Hmm, that can't be right....” 

There was the shuffling of papers. Kejak took a sip. 

“No, no, that can't be... well, sir, it appears that he has already thrown no less than six fates off track already.” 

The elder Sidereal raised an eyebrow. Someone capable of causing this much of a problem was... unusual, yes, but not a major outlier in the grand scheme of things. And when it came to Sidereals, the scheme was indeed grand. However, Kejak sensed there was more. 

“Erm. It would also appear that the Emissary has cloaked their presence from us. Somehow.” Deepest Thoughts looked nervous. 

Kejak frowned. This had happened before, but only... three times that he could remember. And they were all disasters. 

“There's more, sir. The Pattern Spiders... well, they don't like him, to be blunt. They say he's got something that doesn't, er, match. With anything. The closest they can come to describing it is something like a god or a demon, but it's not a very accurate translation. It's powerful, whatever it is.” 

Well. This could be a problem. 

 

Vimes was starting to get very edgy. None of the streets matched his memory, and none of the buildings looked familiar, even from the pictures he'd seen of cities around the Disc. At least the crowdedness of the streets was familiar. This place would give Ankh-Morpork a run for its money in the crowds department. And, likely, the filth department. 

One particularly dense collection of people was blocking the way down the street Vimes had chosen. A veteran of pedestrian congestion solutions, Vimes began to push his way through. The reason for the crowd became apparent soon enough. 

A man stood over a crumpled street urchin. The man's outfit drew an inward groan from Vimes, having reminded him of the damn time monks he'd met. He really hoped this wasn't another field trip into history. There was certainly enough kicking, that was certain, because the monk (if that was what he was) was treating the urchin like a football. The crowd just simply watched, silently. 

Vimes' eyes narrowed. 

“Pardon me,” he said, even if he wasn't sure why he was saying it. “But I'd like to get through and I find that cruelty to children keeps me from getting where I'm going.” 

The monk stopped. He glared at Vimes down his nose, as though looking at a particularly noisome insect. “And who are you to demand such of me?” he asked. Vimes was instantly reminded of Lord Rust, which did not do the monk any favors. 

“Me? Oh, just a concerned citizen, you might say.” The Watch armor hadn't counted for much in the alley, outside of taking a few blows, so Vimes reasoned that his Law wasn't known here. 

The monk snorted. “The child ran into me. Clearly, it was an attempt at robbing the righteous.” 

“Oh, yes, I can see that by the way you've reduced said child to barely gasping for breath. Still, worth it, eh? Got to set an _example_ ,” Vimes spat, “to anyone who might get a bright idea. Or bump into you by accident.” 

“Do you think you are more righteous than I am?” The monk's contempt could have chilled all the drinks in a bar. 

“No,” said Vimes simply. “Just that I wouldn't kick a child.” 

The monk took up a martial stance. “Perhaps, then, you should defend yourself. The Dragons will aid whoever is truly righteous.” 

Dragons? Since when did they do anything but explode? Too late, however, for thought. The monk had already gracefully flipped over Vimes' head, clearly intending to deliver some telling blows from behind. 

Vimes grinned as the high noonday sun shone down. His mistake; it had brought him within reach of the Vimes Elbow. 

 

Kejak opened his mouth to speak. He did not, however, get the chance. There was a tremendous _twang_ all throughout the Loom, shaking everyone present to their core. 

“What,” he said very carefully, “was that?”

“I, er, I'll go, and... and see, sir,” said Deepest Thoughts, who was already stumbling away. 

Five minutes of waiting turned into ten. Deepest Thoughts scrambled back, stuttering and shaking. 

“Th-th-th-the s-s-s-s-sp-spi-spid-sp-” The younger Sidereal stopped, slapped himself, and took a breath. “It's the Spiders, sir. They... they're in total disarray.” 

Nearly five thousand years in the service of the Bureau of Destiny had made Kejak extraordinarily good at keeping his composure. This news put that composure to the test. “Explain, if you don't mind,” he said, voice very low. 

“They're acting like... like they don't know what to do! Come to think of it, sir, _I_ don't know what to do!” 

Footsteps announced the arrival of another. Kejak turned to see Nazri, a political rival if a technical work colleague, hurrying forward. 

“Kejak,” said the Chosen of Endings. 

“Nazri,” said the Chosen of Secrets. 

“Well, I had hoped that the Loom would provide some answers. It would seem, however, it will not.” 

Kejak raised an eyebrow. “What exactly do you mean?”

Nazri's shoulders sagged. “I've just come from Lytek's office. He says something's gone wrong.”

“I- _wrong?_ ” 

“Yes. Much as you may not like them, Kejak, Lytek saw that there was going to be a Solar Exaltation today. It was very short-notice, he said, but it was going to happen in Nexus.” 

Suspicious, Kejak raised his teacup to his lips. “How short-notice?” he asked before taking a sip. 

“He only found out about half an hour ago.” 

Once again, Kejak's composure was tested. Thankfully, his fellow Sidereal did not get a face full of tea. “And...?”

“The last thing he told me before he locked himself in his office was that it didn't _take._ ” 

Kejak's teacup hit the floor. 

 

Vimes looked at the crowd. “Well?” 

Nobody moved. 

Sighing, he stepped over the unconscious body of the monk. “Look, I'm not going to... he was attacking me!” In fairness, he could have been said to have provoked the monk, but Vimes was a _copper_. That alone was provocation. “Look, I'll just... go now, shall I?”

The stunned crowd parted. Vimes stopped to help the quivering child up, but someone dragged him away before he could. 

Down yet another alleyway, the watchman looked at the person who had grabbed ahold of him. It was a woman, clearly an expectant mother, dressed in white. However, her hair was also white, a fact which was directly counter to her very young and very beautiful face. 

“Madam,” he said, “if you could explain to me what this is about, and, incidentally, where the bloody wizard who got me into this mess is, I would-” 

“Oh, Mister Vimes, Mister _Vimes_ ,” said the woman, smiling like a wolf. “you've gone and done it now, haven't you? Punching out one of the Immaculates? If you want friends and enemies alike, you've certainly made them.” 

“And who,” replied Vimes, icily, “are _you_ , who clearly knows me so well as to call me 'Mister' even though we've never met?” 

“A simple question, and a complex one, too. I am... well, call me Luna. And you, Mister Vimes, are sick and tired of people playing 'silly buggers' with you. You just want to go home. In fact, I believe this is very familiar to you, and you'd rather not deal with any of this again.” 

Vimes added “mystified” to that list of traits, and replied “Alright, what's the meaning of this....?”

Luna leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. 

 

There was another great _twang_ throughout the Loom. Kejak gave up on having another cup of tea and stormed out. 

 

“Hm.” Luna leaned back and frowned. “That usually works.” 

Vimes glared. 

“Oh ho ho ho, this shall be _fun!_ ” Luna's smile could have frightened away sharks. “I can't _wait_ to see the look on old Conky's face when he finds out about _you._ ” 

Vimes gave her a trademark Look. It was a copper's Look, one that told whoever it was directed at that they should start answering questions, otherwise things could get very messy very soon. 

“Now don't look at me like _that,_ ” said Luna, tilting her head coyly. “You're wondering how I know all about you. And what that business with the kiss was.” She laughed, and it sounded like something you'd hear off in the distance when you were alone in the jungle. “First of all, let me say again: I am Luna. I am the moon, and I am the impossible. So, naturally, I know all about what belongs here in Creation, and more importantly, what _doesn't._ Your Disc is very nice, Mister Vimes, and your stories are quite good. Had it worked, I'd have Chosen you.” 

An experienced listener, Vimes heard the capital C. Oh, bollocks, he thought, not _destiny._ Anything but bloody destiny. 

“Not to worry, Mister Vimes! I'm sure someone will come along and sort it out! But, sad to say, I've got some business to attend to elsewhere. And do give my regards to your wife and son, would you?” 

“Now, wait just a-” 

There was a brief flash of moonlight, and she was gone. Laughter like silver bells hung in the air. 

Vimes swore, as only a copper can. 

 

The gondola ride took far too damn long, and when Kejak got to the gate and presented his credentials to the Celestial Lions, he was in a foul mood. Not five minutes after he stepped through the gate, an Infallible Messenger popped into existence to inform him, in the voice of Deepest Thoughts, that not only had the Loom gone _twang_ twice more in his absence, but Lytek could be heard sobbing through his office door, and whoever had ended up in Nexus was, at the rate he was going, quite probably going to start some serious _changes._ Kejak, being an even more experienced listener than Vimes, had heard the italics. These _changes_ would eventually, Deepest Thoughts predicted, culminate in the Emissary being arrested, the entire Council of Entities being kicked out, and all of Nexus' laws being rewritten. On top of that, the little man predicted that the Celestial Bureaucracy would require the opening of six new offices, with at least a dozen gods being reassigned on top of that to assist the new ones. 

The Chosen of Secrets found Nexus in a state of hushed terror. Someone, the whispers said, had been knocking Immaculates senseless and shouting at walls. They also said that this someone had beaten one of the Hooded Executioners' best men, threatened to arrest the remainder, and growled something about removing the Emissary by force if this was what they called law in their damn city. 

Tracking the man wasn't hard. He just had to follow the telltale signs – unconscious bodies, groaning men, and the occasional cheer. The people of Nexus liked a show, particularly if it involved someone getting hurt. 

Kejak found the man in the aftermath of another street brawl. The battered armor looked as though it had been kicked by a yeddim, but then, so did the man wearing it. As Kejak silently walked up behind him, he was trying to light a cigar with no matches. 

Before the Sidereal could say anything, the man whirled. The look in the man's eye gave the Chosen of Secrets a very good reason to stop. He could _see_ the anger boiling away, ready to ignite. A quick shift in perception, a little trick of re-focusing the eyes, and Kejak looked at the man's Essence. This told him nothing. He was mortal, that was plain to see, but with something totally different from any mortal he'd ever seen. But there, on his wrist was- 

Ye _gods,_ what _was_ that? 

All of this took place in less than a second. In even less time than that, Kejak decided that this would require a delicate touch. 

It was for this reason that Sam Vimes' brain immediately told him to go to sleep. 

 

The first thing Vimes did when he woke up, after the usual checks, was to pretend he was still asleep. 

The second thing he did was to rise up, screaming and swinging, at the bastard who was standing over him. Suddenly, however, there was not a bastard standing over him. 

“And that,” said an old man to a younger, mousy-looking one, “is why mastering dodging techniques is so useful to us. One never knows when one will need to duck fate.” 

Vimes frowned. 

“Yes, yes, very intimidating.” The older man waved his hand dismissively. “But you're in the grips of the Celestial Bureaucracy now, and Heaven certainly won't help you. Let's get started, shall we? First question: who in the hell are you?” 

Vimes thought, well, if he can play silly buggers, _so can I._

 

The “interrogation” took nearly two hours. Sheer stone-headed Vimesness met with the guile and magic of an elder Sidereal, and neither side won. Vimes enjoyed himself a little bit, however, when he realized that his interrogator seemed to combine the traits of both Vetinari and that annoying little monk who had proven simultaneously helpful and irritating the last time something like this had happened, giving him an excellent chance at revenge by proxy. The other man, the mousy one, reminded him of someone, he just couldn't put his finger on it.... 

Kejak slammed his hands on the table in frustration. “If you intend to keep this game up for much longer, then you may not like the consequences.” 

Vimes shrugged flippantly. 

“Two hours. Two hours and all I've been able to get from you is your name and your occupation. Those I can be sure of as the truth, but everything else you've told me is nothing but lies. So, tell me, John Keel, what are you getting out of this?” 

“Satisfaction, mostly,” said “Keel.” This man had a lot to learn about questioning a real copper. 

“No goal but hedonistic pleasure? I'm certain you had something in mind when you threatened to arrest one of the most politically powerful beings in Creation.” 

“Oh, no, that's just a hobby. And if you ask some of my friends they'll tell you my family likes to execute kings.” Vimes pulled out a cigar. “Mind if I smoke?” 

Kejak didn't say anything. Instead, he turned and left, gesturing for Deepest Thoughts to follow him. 

Outside, the elder Sidereal turned to the younger. “Well? You see that silver case?”

“Yes, sir. Seems important to him.” 

“Indeed. Did you also note the inscription?”

“Oh. Er. No.” 

“That was the important part, young one.” Kejak thought for a moment. “Can you send him back?”

“Well... give me twenty minutes and I think I can, yes.” 

“Good.” Kejak returned to the room which currently held a very angry Sam Vimes. For most, this would have been a bad idea. It would have been a worse idea to make him angrier, which is why the untrained observer would have been horrified to hear what he said next. 

“Sybil must be worried.” 

For a brief moment, Vimes' face betrayed _everything._ Then, it betrayed nothing but raw anger under a mask of stony silence. 

That utter _bastard,_ Vimes thought. How did he...? He was suddenly conscious of the cigar in his hand. Bugger. The cigar case. But the inscription was so fine, the man must have needed binoculars to see the writing.... 

“Now then. You can either stop playing games, and we send you back whence you came, or you can continue this charade and we'll simply execute you to save trouble.” 

“And why should I believe you can get me home?”

“Oh, you need not worry about that. My assistant there has already scuttled off to prepare the necessary Sorceries.” 

Things clicked inside Vimes' head. So _that_ was who he had been reminded of. That made things a little different then. 

“Let me guess. It involves spiders.” 

Kejak's glare could have frozen a lake. 

“Well, the bloody things are what got me into this in the first place.” 

“Perhaps,” said Kejak, very carefully, “you had better tell me the honest truth this time.” 

 

Vimes, having seen the angle at which the universe was playing, did so. Kejak didn't believe him, especially the part about the mark on his wrist being _just_ a mark, so he tried again, this time making sure to mention Luna's little appearance. Gods always seemed to make things a little more true, if not factually correct. Having both couldn't hurt, though. Seeing nothing else for it, Kejak gave up and hauled Vimes out to the room where Deepest Thoughts had been preparing. Several mechanical spiders sat in the corners, eyes glinting with malice or irritation as they watched Vimes enter. 

“Alright,” said Vimes. “One question. Really. Why do this for me?”

“Because you have become a distinct annoyance,” said Kejak. “One I would rather not have anywhere near Creation. You don't _belong_ here. Your very presence is anathema to the way this world is supposed to work, and whatever you're dragging along on your wrist can _not_ be good for anyone. If your story is true, then we'll be rid of you, you'll be home, and we can all live happier lives. If not, then I think the Pattern Spiders will enjoy their revenge for your interference with their work. Either way, I win.” The Sidereal smiled. Yes, thought Vimes, definitely a hint of Vetinari in there.... 

“If you're ready, sir, I can send this anomaly home any time.” And yes, thought Vimes again, I definitely recognize who you were based on. 

“Good. Do so.” 

“Ah, yes, all I need is for you to- oh.” The little man had stopped, seeing Vimes pull out the cigar case. “How did you know you'd need a link?”

“Call it experience.” 

“Well, then, let's get started.” Runes glowed yet again, and Vimes breathed a sigh of relief as the world whirled away. 

 

“ _-ger._ ” Ponder stopped and stared. “Oh. Well. Hello again, Commander. I was hoping it wouldn't be a real problem. Just a momentary blink, it seems.” 

Before Vimes could explain what had happened and exactly where the wizard could stick his theories, there was a knock at the door. Carrot entered, as respectfully as he could. 

“Ah, there you are, Mister Vimes.” He looked at the room. “I'm glad I caught you before you had to try anything desperate, sir. I was trying to tell you, we've caught the murderer. Man by the name of Stone. It was the most curious thing. We just found him, trussed up like a turkey....” 

Vimes rubbed his face. It had been a long day. “Let me guess. There was a woman who told you?”

“Er. Yes, as a matter of fact.” 

“And she was pregnant, wasn't she?”

Carrot blushed. “Well, yes, sir, she was....” 

“Did she give you a name?”

“No, sir, but she did ask to be remembered to your wife and son.” 

Oh, ye _gods._ Vimes was prepared to blaspheme in a truly spectacular way, but Carrot continued. 

“She also said she was going home and staying there. I don't know why she emphasized that, to tell you the truth.” 

The Commander _harrumphed._ Good. Gods needed to stay out of his life. 

“Alright, Captain, let's just... get back to the Yard, shall we?” 

 

Elsewhere, a woman with silver hair curled up with a book. Her thumb brushed over the name of the author, embossed on the cover, like she was caressing a dear friend. 

“Oh, Mister Vimes,” she said, “whatever will you do next?”

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me. I couldn't resist. It's a bit rough, but I basically had the idea a few hours before work and had to finish it before leaving. The potential ridiculousness was just too much. 
> 
> If you're confused, the basic reason why Exaltation doesn't take with Vimes is that a) he'd tell it to bugger off if he could and b) he flat-out doesn't belong in Creation. In other words, metaphysical buggery. 
> 
> To be honest, I think the only way things could have gone worse for Creation is if Vimes had run into the Scarlet Empress. It's just as well that Kejak caught this when he did, otherwise we might have ultimately had Sam "I'm Going To Arrest an Entire Army, Just See If I Don't" Vimes trying to arrest the Unconquered Sun. Which, amusing as that might be, would probably end poorly for everyone involved.


End file.
